


i know what you're running from

by confusedrambler



Series: The Hungry City [15]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Creepy Ra's al Ghul, Hurt Tim Drake, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Manipulative Relationship, Mentioned Bruce Wayne, No Sex, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Tim Drake/Ra's al Ghul, Other, Power Dynamics, Tim Drake Needs Help, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Tim Drake is Not Red Robin, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26126359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confusedrambler/pseuds/confusedrambler
Summary: He said, "How long will you journey on?"I said, "Until you stop me."He said, "How long will you boil in the fire?"I said, "Until I am pure."Who is at my door?, Rumi
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Owens & Zeddmore Washington & Prudence Wood, Tim Drake & Ra's al Ghul
Series: The Hungry City [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1378894
Comments: 10
Kudos: 86





	1. This whole scenario can only to me serve

**Author's Note:**

> The follow-up to 'turn your head.' A rewrite of the first arc or two of the Red Robin comics, when Tim travels to rescue Bruce from being lost in time.
> 
> ***About the Ra's/Tim relationship***
> 
> This relationship is extremely unhealthy and is not intended to be romantic. Both Tim and Ra's are dishonest and extremely manipulative. Content wise, there will be no genital touching or sex (penetrative or otherwise) but there will be some kissing/touching. Although Tim does not physically try to prevent this from happening, these interactions are Not consensual. Tim is underage. I have not tagged the fic as underage due to the lack of what I would consider 'sexual' content, but if you believe this Should be tagged, Please let me know and I will do so.

Sweat trickled down his spine and his suit clung in places it shouldn’t as he waited outside the compound. He grimaced and adjusted the way his cape hung around his shoulders, trying not to mind the lone guard’s unwavering stare. Another minute of silence ticked by- one he spent wondering why he hadn’t added more cooling panels to his suit- before a more senior guard appeared. He crooked a finger and Tim stepped forward, stifling a sigh of relief as he stepped into the cooler underground compound. 

The guard didn’t wait for his eyes to adjust, pushing past him and moving with purpose. Tim hurried after him, blinking rapidly as they sped down the much darker hall. By the time his eyes had adjusted, largely unworked stone had given way to carved arabesques and richly textured mosaics lit by flickering oil lamps. The hall still sloped downwards and split at irregular intervals, each off-shoot framed by soaring arches. The guard ignored every turn, taking the straightest path through several splits. He finally came to a stop just before the hall narrowed and took a sharp turn, nodding in Tim’s direction and sweeping his arm forward to indicate he was to continue.

Tim hesitated, a slight breeze catching at the edge of his cape and chilling the already uncomfortable line of sweat down his back. His skin prickled, the sensation just on the edge of pain, and he shivered, curling his fingers into fists. He stiffened his muscles and wiped his face clean of emotions before turning the corner.

The hall opened abruptly into a large chamber, easily thirty feet across. Oil lamps and burning incense ringed the walls and the ceiling soared up into a high dome adorned with gilded calligraphy that spiraled inward. A long rug, finely woven into geometric designs that tricked the eye into seeing flowers and vines, led to what could only be called a throne- a rectangular monstrosity with a canopy supported by a dozen columns, the whole of it made of gold and set with an emperor's ransom of jewels. And above it all, gold and more precious gems were worked into the likeness of a peacock framed by bouquets of flowers. Even in the dim light of the oil lamps, the throne seemed to shimmer. But it was Ra’s al Ghul himself- clothed in a robe of green linen, simply cut with a high collar- that threatened to steal his breath.

His eyes flicked to meet Tim’s the moment he entered the room, almost glowing with intensity. His lips curled into the slightest of smiles and he dismissed the single servant in the room with a wave of his hand.

“I had my doubts, but it seems my men were correct.  _ Despite  _ the costume change. To what do I owe the honor, Little Detective?” The words dripped from his lips, rich and smooth as molasses.

Tim tilted his head upwards to meet his gaze, offering the older man a glimpse of his bared throat. “I’m not so little anymore, Ra’s.”

Ra’s rose and descended the throne, eyes calculating. He moved with the easy grace of a predator in his element, circling Tim before coming to a stop inches away from his face. He bent down just far enough to look Tim in the eye as he hooked his thumbs under either side of the cowl, cradling Tim’s cheeks for an instant before pushing the cowl back to expose his face. He stared for a moment longer, emerald eyes piercing straight through Tim’s soul- uncovering all his skittering secrets.

“No,” he murmured, tracing the line of Tim’s jaw with the back of one hand. “Not so little, indeed. But I believe I asked you a question.” He dropped his hands and returned to his throne with measured steps. Tim jerked his chin down as soon as Ra’s back was turned, staring at the floor unseeing as he fought to control his runaway pulse.

“Of course,” he forced out through numb lips. “I apologize. I did not mean to offend.”

Ra’s sank to lounge on his throne, looking down his nose at Tim with languid interest.

“And so you have not. But take care. I am not a patient man.”

“No,” Tim agreed. “But, unless I am wrong, you  _ are  _ an ally.”

Ra’s laughed, full and long, head falling back with the force of it so that the light caught on his silvering hair. “Me? An ally to  _ Robin _ when Batman has worked against me for so long? Ah, but it has been years since I heard such a jest.”

“An ally to me, not to Robin,” Tim corrected, chin raising to a level just short of outright defiance. “I’ve cast that name- that  _ life  _ aside.”

“And yet you show up on my doorstep wearing a cowl and cape.” Ra’s eyes flashed as he leaned forward, mouth curling into a sneer. “If you’re going to lie to me, at least make it something believable.”

“It’s not a lie.” Tim met his gaze, unwaveringly. “Batman is dead.”

Ra’s scoffed. “Then what patrols the streets of Gotham? A ghost? Timothy, you begin to annoy me.”

“An imitation. And a poor one.” Tim snapped. “Batman- the real Batman- is dead. And I have better things to do than play sidekick to a mimic. I’ve left that to your  _ grandson _ . I came because I thought you might be glad of a partnership. But I see now that I misjudged.” He spun on his heel and stalked toward the exit, counting down in his head.

“ _ Stop _ .” Ra’s said. He didn’t raise his voice, but the chamber echoed with its force. Tim stopped, schooled his expression back to impassivity and looked back over his shoulder. Ra’s was on his feet, eyes hooded. “There is no need to be rash. It’s unbecoming.” Tim turned to face him fully, raising an eyebrow. “We will speak more of your… proposal. But not now; I have business to attend to. Over dinner, perhaps?”

Tim inclined his head. “As you wish.”

\---

Tim smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt and stared at his reflection. There wasn’t much he could do about the bags under his eyes or the lobster-red of his cheeks, but he’d done his best to slick his hair back. What bothered him most was the drape of linen across his shoulders, the barely-there feel of silk skimming against his legs when he moved. He could barely remember the last time he’d worn anything but a suit and he hardly recognized himself. 

He took a meditative breath and let his eyes drift closed. What he thought didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting Ra’s to take his side and keeping him there. There was a knock at the door and a servant dressed in white slipped into the room with eyes lowered demurely before Tim had a chance to do more than blink.

“If you will follow me, efendi. The meal is ready.”

Tim nodded and followed the servant into the hall, mindful to stay just out of reach. This was the League of Assassins, after all. The servant led him through the corridors without speaking, never pausing to check that Tim still followed. Tim had half expected to be led through a dozen turns and switchbacks to confuse his sense of direction, but the servant seemed to take the most direct route to their destination. Two minutes had scarcely passed before the servant came to a stop in front of a thick wooden door- no more or less ornate than a dozen others they’d passed. The servant opened the door without bothering to knock and led Tim inside.

There was only one other entrance to the room- an archway on the right wall that led to a second room. Though he couldn’t see much of it from his current position, he could hear the musical tones of someone speaking in Arabic just out of sight. The room he was in seemed to be a dining room, well lit by torches and decorated with fine tapestries, a low table surrounded by plush cushions in its center. Smoky incense warred with the scents of tomato, garlic, and freshly baked bread wafting from the table. A ceramic pitcher rested on a tray in the center of the table, near a still steaming skillet, a covered basket, and several lidded ramekins with notches for the silver utensils that rested against their sides. The room was empty of people except for a musician that sat at the ready in the far corner, a stringed instrument Tim didn’t recognize resting across his lap. The servant inclined their head and gestured for Tim to take a seat. “Şeytanın başı will be with you shortly. There is water to wash with on the table, and a towel to dry your hands. Do you require anything else?”

“No, thank you.” The servant inclined his head in acknowledgment and left, closing the door behind him, as Tim folded himself onto the closest cushion. The washbasin was on the other side of the pitcher, two bleached white towels folded neatly inside. He removed them both, placing one on his lap and the other on the table. He grabbed the pitcher with two hands and was surprised to find that it was warm. He tilted it towards himself and sniffed delicately, trying not to draw the musician’s attention. It didn’t smell like there were any poisons in the water, but he didn’t like taking the chance. Still, he poured the water and rinsed his hands, patting them dry just as Ra’s entered the room with another servant at his heels. As soon as Ra’s entered the room, the musician in the corner picked up their instrument and began playing, soft and sweet.

“Ah, Timothy. You’ve arrived.” He sank onto a cushion across from Tim and shook back his sleeves, briskly cleansing his hands. “We’re having simple fare tonight, Timothy, though I hope you’ll find it agreeable. If I’d known you were coming, I would have had the servants prepare something more impressive.” His tone shifted towards disapproval, his eyes flicking up to meet Tim’s.

“I’m sure it will be more than adequate. And allow me to apologize for showing up unannounced. I admit, my departure from Gotham was…” he let the corner of his mouth turn down into the slightest of frowns. “Sooner than I’d intended.”

“Yes, so I surmised.” Ra’s gestured at the servant and they whisked away the tray that held the wash basin and pitcher, but left the towels. That servant exited the room and another appeared with two amphoras still dewy with condensation and four wine glasses. They set their tray in the center of the table and poured, two full glasses of dark red wine and two of chilled water, before disappearing once more. A droplet of water trickled down the edge of the glass nearest him and his throat ached, but Tim didn’t move, keeping his expression smooth and neutral. Ra’s caught his eye and smiled indulgently, taking a sip of the water and then of the wine. Only then did Tim take the remaining glasses and allow himself a sip of the blessedly cool water. “Shall I taste the food as well, Timothy? Or will you trust me when I say that you are safe beneath my roof?” He paused, indulgent smile turning sly. “As safe as you ever are.”

Tim tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Can you blame me for doubting?” he said mildly. “I know your reputation, Ra’s. In my experience…” he reached for the covered basket, pulling out a piece of flatbread and slowly tearing off a morsel, placing it on his tongue and letting it melt away as he met Ra’s stare for stare.  _ “Everything  _ is a test.” He smiled. “And I wouldn’t want you to mistake me for a fool.”

“Ah, I would never think that of  _ you _ , dear Timothy.” Ra’s met his smile and held his gaze for a moment longer before grabbing a flatbread of his own and spooning a serving of the steaming something from the skillet into his bowl. Tim had never seen this type of dish before, but it seemed innocuous enough- eggs in a thick red sauce that smelled of garlic and tomato and onions and peppers. He mirrored Ra’s, serving himself less than half a bowl and dipping a piece of bread. The flavors burst on his tongue- smoky, spicy, and rich in a way that filled his mouth without being the slightest bit overwhelming. He hummed in pleasant surprise and went back for another bite, scooping it up with his bread rather than simply dipping. Ra’s chuckled knowingly. “Good, isn’t it? Though it’s a simple dish, menemen is one of my personal favorites.” He opened the ramekins, revealing a mixture of marinated olives, crumbly white cheese, a creamy white sauce with glints of bright green, and roasted vegetables gleaming with a drizzle of oil. He plucked an olive from the dish and popped it into his mouth, waving at the spread with his other hand. “Help yourself. We have much to speak of and talk of business goes well with food and wine.”

Tim did so, trying a little of everything before deciding to top the menemen with cheese and the vegetables with the white sauce that tasted strongly of cucumber and mint. The olives he ate alone, enjoying their earthy sweetness. Once they’d both settled into the meal, Ra’s dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin and cleared his throat.

“I see no point in wasting time, so let us resume our conversation. You spoke of a partnership.”

Tim nodded and took a sip of water to clear his mouth. “A partnership, yes. But is it wise to speak business with company?” He flicked his eyes to the musician, still playing quietly in the corner. Ra’s laughed and waved his hand dismissively.

“Pay him no mind. He won’t repeat anything we say; I took his tongue to ensure it. And if he  _ is _ caught spreading information, his ears are next.”

“I see,” Tim said slowly. “Then I can tell you that while I was in Gotham, something was taken from me. I want it back.”

Ra’s snorted and took a drink of wine, the dark red staining his lips. “We both know you’re more than capable of solving a simple theft, Timothy. That’s hardly something you would need my assistance for.”

“Not usually, no. But as I mentioned, the situation in Gotham has become less than ideal. Now that Bruce is gone, I’ve been forced into the public eye more than I like. It makes maintaining my operations difficult; there are… elements in the city that I would prefer to avoid and my access to certain resources has been severely limited.”

“I see. Then, you came to me because you require funds?”

“If I only needed money, I’d have stolen it.” He said tartly. “I came to you because I require more than that. Information. Enough anonymity to conduct my business quickly and quietly. Another set of hands, should I need them.”

“And your…  _ former  _ allies can’t provide those things?”

“Won’t,” Tim corrected. “They don’t trust me anymore. And I don’t trust them. They ask too many questions.”

Ra’s quirked an eyebrow. “My, my. Have you been playing with things you shouldn’t, little bird?”

“And if I have?” Tim said archly. “It’s only because I learned from the best.”

“Well said. But what would I gain from such a partnership?”

“I would be at your complete disposal. Anything that you needed done, I would do.” He smiled tightly. “Barring murder, of course.”

“Is that all?” Ra’s said mildly. “I have hundreds at my beck and call. All the best in their fields, all hand picked, all unswervingly loyal to  _ me _ . What do you have that they don’t? What can you offer me, Timothy, that I don’t already have?”

“I would owe you a debt.” He said simply. “And you’ve watched me grow up. You’ve helped with my training for all these years. I’m not a little bird sitting on Bruce’s shoulder anymore, Ra’s. You  _ know  _ what I’m capable of if I’m…” he looked up through his lashes. “ _ Properly _ motivated.” Ra’s lips parted and he huffed a laugh, eyes widening with delight.

“I see,” he breathed. He reached a hand across the table and took Tim’s chin in his hand, tilting his face upwards. “Yes,” he murmured, leaning closer as his eyes traced the planes of Tim’s face, lingered on the shape of his lips. “Yes, I think that will do quite nicely, Timothy.” He released Tim’s chin with a knowing smile and stood up from the table. “That’s enough talk of business for tonight, I think.” He clapped his hands twice and Tim’s heart stuttered back into rhythm; he’d forgotten to breathe. The musician stopped in the middle of his song and bowed, exiting the room as two servants appeared. Ra’s gestured over his shoulder, already moving back through the archway he’d arrived through. “Clear the table and take our guest back to his room. Ensure he has everything he needs. He will be joining us for a while. And Timothy,” Tim jerked at the sound of his name, unable to hide the widening of his eyes. Ra’s smirked over his shoulder. “I expect you in the training rooms at noon tomorrow. Don’t be late.”


	2. become a bounty hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three introductions, two fights, and one ex-bird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see!  
> So, here's the deal- I've completely finished the detailed outline for this and we're looking at around 10-12 chapters, depending on how long some of the scenes get once I add in dialogue and such. Problem is, Tim Thoughts have been Evicted and replaced by all three gals. Steph, Cass, and Babs are having a great time living rent-free in my head and you'll likely see a 'snack' or two from them before they vacate the premises and let me get back to focusing on Timby.  
> Feste is still, mm, out of commission. Now it's mostly because she's been Laid Low by the Return of the Thief, the imminent release of Zephyrous by the Oh Hellos, and the fact that her sister is moving in with us in like 2 weeks. SO. Bear with us and we'll post when we can. Hope you enjoy!

No one came to wake him and he slept longer than he’d intended. He picked at the breakfast tray that had been left in his rooms and took his time getting ready for the day, but there were still a few hours before noon when he’d finished and it appeared that he would be left to his own devices until he was due to meet Ra’s. He paced his rooms, eyes flicking to the door that led into the hall again and again. He didn’t want to stay in his rooms when there was so much else he could be doing. When he’d first arrived, he’d only ever been out of the suite when he was being escorted directly to wherever he needed to be. But he and Ra’s had made a deal. And being locked up all day hadn’t been part of it. 

He opened the door to the hall like he owned the place, not letting even a flicker of surprise show on his face when it opened without the slightest trouble. A servant, the same that had brought his breakfast, waited outside his door with eyes downcast. She didn’t speak to him or try to stop him from leaving, so he set out to spend what remained of the morning exploring the complex and committing its layout to memory. 

He started methodically, keeping track of the number of doors and archways that he passed, making note of each common area that he moved through. He found the training rooms without much trouble and thought about getting in some morning exercise while he waited for Ra’s, but quickly discarded the idea. There were several League members already there and he didn’t like the idea of turning his back to any of them. Besides, he’d need to be at his best for whatever test Ra’s had in mind. He decided, instead, to return to his rooms and draw out the layout of the complex as he knew it so far. But when he tried to retrace his steps, he found himself at a dead end. He tried again and was faced with a set of rooms he’d never seen before. 

Nearly an hour had passed when he finally stopped trying to navigate by counting turns and instead began counting his footsteps. It didn’t take long for him to see where he’d gone wrong. The way that the entrances were carved into the rocks meant that corridors that were easy to spot when moving further into the hall were nearly impossible to see once you’d turned around. It was a clever defense and it would be annoying to deal with until he got more used to the layout of the Cradle, but now that he knew the trick of it, he could work around the issue. 

He abandoned the idea of drawing out a map at this stage- all his previous data was faulty since he’d been counting doorways, not footsteps- and continued to roam the halls for the scant hour that was left to him, overwriting the map in his head and counting the people he passed. There weren’t many. Occasionally he would pass a servant or, even more rarely, a League member moving with purpose. He got the idea that Ra’s was choosy about those he allowed in the Cradle at all. Tried not to think too hard about why  _ he’d  _ been allowed in, instead comforting himself with the knowledge that at least if things went a little more wrong than he expected them to, he wouldn’t have to fight off a literal army.

At a quarter to noon, he cut his wanderings short and returned to the training complex, intending to be there early enough to stake out a space and set himself at ease before Ra’s appeared. But Ra’s was already there, in the very center of the room and surrounded by a cluster of kneeling league members. When Ra’s saw him, he gestured and all but three sprang to their feet and scattered, leaving the main chamber empty but for the four of them. Ra’s beckoned Tim closer and he obeyed, hair prickling at the back of his neck as Ra’s put a firm hand on his shoulder as soon as he was in reach, guiding him even nearer.

“Your timing is impeccable.” He pushed Tim to stand in front of him, gripping both of Tim’s shoulders and squeezing as he bent to speak in his ear. “I have a gift for you.”

“Oh?” Tim said lightly, eyes flicking to the others that remained, trying to gauge their reaction to Ra’s behavior. Neither man batted an eye, but the woman seemed openly curious. Ra’s released his grip and stood straight, moving to circle the trio as he tucked both arms behind his back.

“This is Zeddmore, Owens, and Prudence.” As they were named, each man dipped their head in acknowledgment. The woman only grinned, something sharp in her look. “They are yours to command. They will do anything you ask of them.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.” Ra’s stopped in front of Tim, green eyes bright. “They will assist you in your mission. And in the task you will complete for me.”

“I see.” Tim said evenly. “And which task would that be?” Ra’s resumed his pacing, this time circling Tim slowly, slowly.

“Someone is targeting my people. In the past two days, two of my operatives have been killed. The first was killed immediately after completing a contract. Though rare, it has happened before. But the second,” Ra’s stopped, back to Tim. His fists tightened until the knuckles went white. “The second was killed while on a protection detail. No one else, including the client, was targeted. No one saw the perpetrator.” He twisted to face Tim, expression sour. “I want to know who. I want to know why.” 

Tim lifted a single eyebrow, but otherwise kept his expression carefully neutral. “It  _ could  _ be a coincidence. I’ll need more than that to go on.”

“It is not a coincidence.” Ra’s said frostily. “You will be provided with the information we already have on the deaths. If you need more than that-” Ra’s lip curled. “You are the detective.  _ Detect _ .” Ra’s spun on his heel and stalked out of the room, his robes billowing out behind him as he left. The room felt almost empty without his presence.

Tim shook the thought out of his head and refocused on the trio still standing in front of him. They hadn’t moved, but all three had lost a tension in their bodies that Tim hadn’t noticed before. He frowned, chewing at his lip as he watched. They were obviously spies for Ra’s more than anything else. But even spies for other men could have their uses. He sighed and put his hands on his hips.

“Well. Sounds like we have our work cut out for us. Might as well get started.” He dropped into a half lotus and gestured for the others to sit as well. The tallest man- Zeddmore- settled into the same pose effortlessly but Prudence sprawled and Owens didn’t sit at all, choosing to squat instead. Tim decided to ignore it. “If we’re going to work together, I’ll need to familiarize myself with your skills. Let’s start with you, Zeddmore. Tell me about yourself.”

The dark-skinned man nodded placidly, words rolling off his tongue easily, though Tim couldn’t quite place his barely-there accent. “I have experience in many disciplines, but I specialize in Capoeira. If required I can use weapons, but I prefer to work with my hands.”

“Capoeira. You’re Brazilian, then?”

“I am.”

“And your other skills?”

“I speak Portuguese,” he said, smooth voice lilting up into the suggestion of a question. “I am an assassin, sir.” 

“You know what, we’ll come back to that later.” He shifted to look at Prudence, more lounging than sitting. “What about you, Prudence? What can you do?”

Her blue eyes twinkled and her piercings clinked quietly when she cocked her head to the side. “Name’s Pru. And I can do whatever the bloody fuck I like.” She grinned nastily, thickening her Londoner’s accent even more. “Mostly I like to shoot things. Pistols are favorite, but a nice auto’ll do.”

Tim fought to keep the knee-jerk frown off of his face. “And you, Owens?”

Owens shrugged. “Designated marksman. And I handle most of the tech.”

Tim grunted, staring down each of them. They stared back without missing a beat. It seemed they weren’t as willing to follow his lead as Ra’s had believed. He sighed and rose to his feet, cracking his neck idly. “Alright, let’s get this over with. On your feet and on the mats, all of you.” Zeddmore rose gracefully, but Pru’s ascent was one flailing movement after the other. Owens didn’t move except to raise a limp hand. “ _ Yes _ , Owens. What is it?”

“I don’t  _ fight _ .” He drawled.

“You don’t fight.” Tim parroted, nonplussed.

“Nope.” He popped the last syllable. “I figure if anyone’s close enough to touch me, I’m already dead.”

Tim stared incredulously, stuttered, shut his mouth and exhaled sharply. “Fine. You’re long-range only.  _ Noted _ . Now get your ass up and get on the mats.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Owens popped upright, shoved his hands in his pockets, and swaggered over to where the others were stretching. Tim kicked off his shoes and staked out a section of mat a few yards from the others, stripping down to his undershirt and running through his own stretches. By the time he finished, Zeddmore was shadow boxing and Pru was playing with a butterfly knife. Owens was still half-heartedly moving through a basic set of stretches. Tim shook his hands out one more time and approached the trio. Owens noticed him first, kicking Pru’s leg and catching Zeddmore’s eye while jerking his head in Tim’s direction.

“Zeddmore, you’re up first. One clean hit wins. I want a friendly spar, not a death match. Got it?” The Brazilian nodded sharply and moved to face him, though he didn’t assume a fighting stance. “Something wrong?”

“No, sir. I was only wondering who would judge the match.”

“Owens,” Tim snapped.

“Yeah?”

“You’re referee.”

Owens saluted lazily. “You got it, boss.”

Zeddmore finally dropped into a fighting stance, idly bouncing from foot to foot. Tim settled more firmly into his stance, dropping his weight low and noting how the other moved. It had been a while since he’d fought without his staff and he would need every advantage he could get.

“Match starts on the three count.” Owens said.

“Three.” Tim inhaled, gathering up every stray thought in his mind.

“Two.” He envisioned trapping and holding them in the palm of his hand.

“One.” He exhaled sharply, blowing away everything that could distract him.

“Fight.”

Zeddmore sprang forward and exploded into a sharp flurry of blows, quick jabs followed up seamlessly by a series of kicks so fast that the air whistled with his movements. Tim skittered backwards, barely avoiding each hit. Zeddmore followed close behind, wasting no time in pressing his advantage. It was hard to keep out of his longer reach, but Tim managed to avoid the next burst of attacks as he analyzed the man’s fighting style.

The fluidity of his movements made it difficult to pick out which attacks were feints and which were true threats, though he kept himself completely open to retaliation. Likely trusting that the barrage of blows would keep him safe from a counterattack. Tim intended to take advantage of that overconfidence. He ducked under another hit and launched an attack of his own, intending to land a hit on one of Zeddmore’s kidneys. But he simply wasn’t in reach anymore. The other man had let the force of his failed attack carry him into a one handed cartwheel and out of Tim’s range. He was looking very smug about it, too. Tim narrowed his eyes and inclined his head in acknowledgment, adjusting his expectations. He was  _ good _ .

They circled each other, testing and probing. Like most specialists in Capoeira, Zeddmore favored strong kicks and proved surprisingly flexible for a man with his frame. Nothing on Dick, of course. But in combination with his longer reach, it made the other man difficult to get close to. They clashed again, trading blows and darting apart. The smug look was beginning to fade, replaced by a sort of pinched confusion.

Tim didn’t intend to give him the chance to work through that confusion. He’d kept his acrobatics to a minimum so far- better to keep as many tricks up his sleeve as possible- but if he wanted Ra’s spies to take him seriously, he needed to end the fight sooner rather than later. 

Zeddmore darted forward again, leading with a few jabs and following up with a front kick. Tim had been watching for the split second of transition and dove into a roll, landing behind the man and swiping out at his ankle instead of trying to regain his footing. Zeddmore toppled with a quiet curse, hitting the mat shoulder first as Tim sprang back to his feet.

“Match,” Owens called placidly. “You’re out, Z.”

Zeddmore-- Z-- grunted and rolled to his feet, not even a little out of breath. “So I am.” He looked at Tim appraisingly but said nothing else, only inclined his head and stood to the side. Pru took his place without being asked, cracking knuckles and neck. Tim sighed, but shook out his limbs and sank back into his stance.

“Owens?”

“Yep. On the three count. Three- two- one- fight.”

Pru surged toward him with a nasty grin, dishing out punch after punch. None of her blows got through his guard, but the force of them stung more than he expected; she was stronger than she looked. The difference between her and Z was the difference between a bulldog and a cobra. There was none of the clashing and springing apart to regroup that there had been with Z. Where he relied on finesse and flexibility, she moved like a battering ram- unrefined and heavy, but undeniably effective. No matter how many times Tim blocked or avoided her blows, she just kept coming at him. It was like fighting a hybrid of Stephanie and Jason-- she was relentless, vicious, and more than a little emotional. Already, her lip curled with dissatisfaction.

“Quit- running- away- punk!” she punctuated each word with another blow, but they were increasingly sloppy and he avoided them with ease, faking an unconcerned grin. She roared in frustration and flipped a butterfly knife from belt to hand, blade springing open in the movement. She crowded into his space and slashed at him with the blade, forcing him into a back handspring. The instant he landed, he shifted into the offensive, meeting her charge with a whip kick that hit her square in the wrist. The hit landed hard enough that her hand spasmed and she dropped the knife.

“Match,” Owen called out, but Pru ignored him. She growled and swung at Tim wildly, eyes bright with anger. Tim huffed with irritation, but he was hardly surprised. He ducked under the haymaker and sprang back up, driving the heel of his hand into her nose with a  _ crack _ . Blood spurted from her nose and spattered the both of them as she choked in surprise, hands flying to her face, shaking. She went cross eyed trying to look at the damage before her eyes darted back to him, rage overriding surprise.

“You bastard,” she howled. “I  _ just  _ got my nose redone!” She moved to attack him again, but Z was there before she got even a step closer, grabbing her by the arm and forcing her to a stop.

“The match is over,” he said quietly.

She glared at Z for a long moment before jerking her arm free. “Whatever,” she muttered, and stomped off the matts, swiping at the blood on her face with the back of her hand. 

“You’ll have to excuse Pru,” Owens drawled. “She’s new around here; still got a hot head.”

“You don’t say,” Tim said dryly as he plucked at his shirt. He doubted he’d be able to get the bloodstains out of the white linen, but maybe Ra’s servants knew a trick or two he didn’t. He hoped so. He didn’t bring many clothes with him and he’d rather not rely on Ra’s generosity any more than necessary.

“She’ll get over it. You’re not the first to break her nose.”

“Whether she does or doesn’t, there’s no sense waiting on her.” He said distractedly. He tugged at the fabric one last time and sighed before giving it up and meeting Owen’s eyes. He jerked his head towards the targets set up on the far side of the room, smiling tightly. “Owens, you’re up.” Owens waved in acknowledgment and slouched over to a small hanging armory on the far side of the room. 

While he dithered between rifles, Tim made the trek to the opposite wall to hang fresh paper, making a mental note to stay well away from this side of the training rooms in the future. Other than a heap of shredded rubber behind the hanging targets to prevent any projectiles from ricocheting, the shooting range lacked appropriate safety measures. The narrow lane stretched the length of the training hall but hadn’t been roped off. The only indication that this side of the hall was a functioning range was the scraped and fading caution tape that outlined it. Just one more way for Ra’s to weed out the unworthy, he was sure.

Tim hung the new paper and half-jogged to the taped boundary. He was scarcely over the line when shot after shot rang out, each crack of the rifle followed by flying paper and the stench of burning rubber. He waited until Owens lowered his rifle and waved an all clear before retrieving the paper. He raised an eyebrow as he looked the target over, tracing the lowest curve of bullet holes. He trashed the target paper and headed back to the other men, picking through his words. 

“Interesting choice,” he said, when he was near enough to be heard without raising his voice. “Most snipers I’ve seen make an effort to hit the center of the target at least once. You never got near it.”

Owens grinned. “Sure. But I made a pretty picture, didn’t I?”

“I’m not sure you can call a smiley face a ‘pretty picture,’” Tim said dryly. “But I think you made your point.”

Owens slung the rifle over his shoulder and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So are we done here or you want to play some more ice breakers?”

“This wasn’t-,” Tim stopped, frown deepening. “Yes. We’re done. You have the rest of the day to yourselves; I have my own work to do. Report here in the morning- 0600, mission ready. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” the men chorused. Owens wandered away, whistling as he began disassembling the rifle. Zeddmore made no attempt to leave, standing with his hands clasped loosely at his back and staring at Tim with a carefully neutral expression that reminded him strongly of Alfred.

“What is it?” His frown deepened a hair further at the roughness in his own voice. Z’s eyes tightened, but he didn’t say a word. Tim tried again. “What do you want, Zeddmore? As I’ve said, I have my own work to do.” Flat and neutral, this time. Much better.

“You are…” he tilted his head, considering. “Different.”

“Different.”

“Yes. Different. The last time we met, you were... less than you are now.”

Tim blinked, mouth falling open just a little. “When we- do I  _ know  _ you?”

“No. And yes. We have fought before, you and I.” He smiled, for the first time, warm and real. “There was little time for introductions, then. I was fighting to revive my master, while you and yours fought to stop me. It is good to meet you officially, Robin.”

“Don’t call me that,” he heard himself say, sharp and clipped. His brain caught up with his mouth and he stumbled over his tongue. “I’m- that’s not- I don’t answer to that name anymore.”

Z’s smile fell and he raised an eyebrow. “You look like a Robin to me, Redbreast.”

Tim managed to stop himself from flinching, but he couldn’t hide how his fists clenched. Though he’d managed to ignore the feel of it until now, the damp patches of blood on his shirt sat heavy, rubbed and scraped against his skin and he couldn’t  _ stand  _ it anymore. He needed it  _ gone _ . He left without a word, schooling his expression into neutrality and speeding through the halls until he was back in his quarters.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, he clawed the shirt off and grabbed at the pitcher left for him. He upended it into his washbasin, too distracted by the prickling, crawling feeling to care about the way the extra water sloshed over the edge and puddled on the floor. He snatched up a towel and plunged it into the bowl, sending another wave of water onto the floor. He scrubbed until every inch of his chest was scoured clean. Until he couldn’t tell the difference between the buzzing of skin rubbed raw and the ache in his chest. 


End file.
